Rain
by Dien Alcyone
Summary: Madam Hooch is depressed by a student's death. A very unlikely comforter shows up-- add alcohol, and the situation gets out of hand rapidly. Sex! Drinks! Poker! What more can you ASK?
1. Still Pools in the Gutter

Rain (1/4):

Still Pools On the Sidewalk****

_by Dien Alcyone_

**Who: **A Snape/Hooch piece. With a minor character death.

**What:** Weren't you listening? A Snape/Hooch romance. Alcohol. Rain. Antics. Self-blame. Sex.

**Why:** Pick one: Damn plot-elf wouldn't leave me alone. I'm captain of this SHIP and there isn't enough fic for it. I wanted to annoy my faithful readers by working on something other than SoH or Discipline.

**Where:** FF.N, Astronomy Tower, my site, ask if you want it

**When (to review): **At all times of the night and day

**How: **With liberal amounts of liquor, and inspiration/ideas from:

Tess's proposed first name for Professor Sprout, which is Salvia. 

Harry Potter Lexicon for frequent reference stuff.

Discussion on FA for my preferred first name/background etc., for Madam Hooch.

Zoë Wanamaker for my mental image of M. Hooch.

JKR for Ultimate Original Mental Image of Hooch, and for making a world for me to play in.

Note of sort... I felt like dispensing with the usual image of Hooch that appears in any romance fic. You know, very aggressive jumps-on-the-males. Not that I'm saying she WOULDN'T, but I did want to make her a bit more three-dimensional.

Rating: R, I imagine.

****

The sky overhead was gray and leaden, occasional drops of rain falling to the ground like slow and reluctant tears. Severus Snape found a dark irony in the fact that the weather was also in mourning.

Black banners in the great hall and the subdued air of the students were reminder enough. That the sky should join in seemed overly melodramatic. He spared the dark clouds a scowl, then sighed. Life went on, after all. Much as people protested and cried and wept and grieved, life went harshly and ruthlessly on. It was a foolish waste of time to believe otherwise.

The clouds had caught his eye, through the window, as he had made his way to the great hall for lunch. Now, he shook his head and once more continued up the stairway to the hall.

Lunch, normally a noisy affair, was likely to be more quiet than usual. The students were still cowed by their brush with mortality. He gave them at least another day before they started laughing and living and being annoying again.

He entered the hall brusquely, stalking by the tables filled with children picking half-heartedly at their lunches. His Slytherins were nearly as subdued as the other students, and he rolled his eyes briefly. Idiotic. A waste of time.

He was aware of Minerva McGonagall's disapproving glance as he sat down at the staff table, but did not deign to meet her eyes. Albus looked at him from under one mildly arched eyebrow and murmured, "You're late, Severus."

"Arranging detention for some second-year Ravenclaws. Their concentration in class has been abysmal lately."

Flitwick looked up from his practically untouched meal with uncharacteristic anger in his eyes, but was beaten to the punch by McGonagall's low hiss.

"Well, I wonder why! Good gods, Severus, barely two days after they buried one of their own and you gave them _detention?_ Are you _entirely_ without a heart?!

He resisted the impulse that bid him roll his eyes again. His voice was cold as he replied, "Simply because _you_ see fit to do your students the disservice of coddling them, do not expect _me_ to do the same." 

If Dumbledore hadn't been sitting between the two teachers, Minerva McGonagall might very well have gone for Severus's throat. As it was, she shot him a glare that could have cowed any student in the school. He calmly buttered a piece of toast.

The Headmaster sighed. "Really, Severus, I think that was uncalled for."

"Of course," he sneered, unable to keep his lip from curling disdainfully. "Forgive me. I apologise for telling the truth."

"_Severus_--"

"Excuse me, Headmaster. I find I'm not very hungry after all." Snape pushed his chair back from the table and stood. Without a backwards glance, he swept out of the hall.

Dumbledore laid a restraining hand on the Transfiguration professor's forearm as she muttered curses under her breath.

"He doesn't mean it, Minerva."

"He does a damn good impression of meaning it! That callous, heartless, arrogant _bastard!_ Circe_ help_ me..."

Albus sighed and shot a sympathetic gaze at Flitwick, whose sad gaze had returned to his food. "Filius, how is Peregrin holding up?"

The diminutive Charms teacher sighed and shifted in his chair, looking over at the empty chair his colleague usually sat in. Peregrin Hooch was considered by her students as the unofficial second Head of Ravenclaw House, and the death of Terry Boot was something she was taking quite hard.

"To be honest, I haven't... talked to her too much," he said in his soft little voice. "She's still in her quarters..."

Albus nodded and sighed. All of them were saddened by the loss of such a promising bright young man, of course-- and to the senseless tragedy of an accident-- but when a teacher blamed herself... His lips thinned in a frown as he recalled another teacher, guilt and self-hatred consuming and consuming...

"I think I shall talk to Peregrin after lunch," he murmured, then returned his attention to the lobster on his plate.

THE NEXT DAY

            "Enter," Snape said, not lifting his eyes from the paper he was scrutinizing.

            "Severus, good afternoon," came the Headmaster's cheerful voice as he entered the empty classroom. Without looking up, the Potions Master drawled, "Thank the gods it's you. I thought it might be Minerva, come to berate me on my lack of a soul once again."

            Dumbledore pursed his lips and said nothing. Snape did glance up at that, and said testily, "Oh come now. You know as well as I do that sentimental foolishness over Boot gets us nowhere. And, despite opinions to the contrary, it does the students _no _good."

            "Let them have their grief," Dumbledore said gently, reprovingly. The lines around Severus's mouth tightened.

            "We can't afford the luxury, Albus. We're training a generation to be ready for war. Death is something they'll have to learn to deal with."

            "They are _children_."

            "Then they have to grow up," the younger man snapped. "I have no patience for this bawling and blubbering and sad remembrance. Terry Boot is dead. Tears and black banners will not change this. I am apparently the only person in the school who is not afraid to admit this and get on with things."

            Albus said nothing, his blue eyes boring gimlet holes in Snape, who fidgeted under the stare but tried to pretend he was only interested in the assignment he graded. After a long moment of silence, Snape's scowl deepening all the while, he bit out the words in a harsh tone of voice:

"_Life goes on,_ Albus. Much as we might wish otherwise."

            The Headmaster sighed and sat down on one of the stools the students had vacated a half-hour earlier.

            "I don't want to argue this again, Severus. We will never be of the same mind on how the children should be taught. Let us agree to disagree."

            "Fine by me," Snape muttered, scrawling a damning comment on the assignment. "You started it."

            "And believe me, I regret it," murmured Dumbledore. "But I didn't come down here to discuss the students."

            "Do tell. Then to what do I owe the undeniable honour of your radiant presence."

            Albus rolled his eyes and ignored the sarcasm. "I came to discuss one of your fellow teachers and colleagues."

            Snape made an impatient gesture with his quill that might have signified 'go on.'

            "Madam Hooch. She hasn't come out of her quarters since young Terry's funeral. She was quite fond of the young man, of course-- we all were--"

            "I wasn't," Snape said, low enough it might almost have been imagined. Dumbledore frowned and continued as if there had been no interruption. "... and she's taking it rather hard."

            He paused, observing Snape carefully. Under that sneering arrogance, that cold and heartless exterior, he knew Severus _did_ indeed care, not only for his students, but to a degree for his fellow teachers. And he and Peregrin Hooch had always gotten along reasonably well.

            Snape seemed to have slowed marginally in his writing, and made another slight gesture with the quill.

            "Since it was a flying accident, it is quite possible that Peregrin... blames herself."

            Beat. The quill froze over the paper for a second, then continued smoothly writing. Snape's lips were pressed together in a thin line, his eyes fixed on his writing.

            Albus continued in a casual tone. "I tried going down and talking to her yesterday afternoon... but she said she was not in the mood for visitors, and I respected her wishes. I believe Filius, Minerva, and Salvia have also tried to visit her, with similar results.

            "I was thinking... perhaps _you_, if you happened to be walking near the Quidditch grounds, might stick your head in--"

            "No."

            Sigh. "Severus--"

            "Albus, I don't _do_ comfort. I don't bring flowers or embroidered handkerchiefs or notes of condolence. I am _not_ persona-of-choice for the position of Grief Counselor."

            "Peregrin is a strong woman, Severus. She doesn't _need_ flowers and counseling. She needs _understanding._"

            Mute glares ensued. Albus glared at Severus. Severus glared at his quill.

            "I'll think about it."

            "_Thank_ you, Severus."

            A curt nod was his only response. Dumbledore sighed as he left the room.

            Severus Snape brooded. He sat in the empty classroom, clasped his hands on his chest, and brooded. Above ground and his dungeon classroom, the half-light of the grey day faded and retreated to be replaced with the dusk of evening, and still he brooded.

            Ungraded assignments sat on his desk. He ignored them in favor of staring unseeing across his vacant classroom. The students had mostly left their stools out, helter-skelter, rather than pushing them neatly back under the tables. He found it difficult to work up the proper annoyance.

            His black eyes roamed restlessly over the empty room, taking in the empty stools, the cleared tables. Slowly, children filled them. The room echoed with the sounds of laughter and talk.

            ...

            _"Settle down," the young teacher said, glaring around the room at his young charges. The bite of his tongue was already becoming legend, and the second-years quieted instantly as their professor entered and strode up to his podium._

_            Severus Snape at twenty-three was a thin, intense young man. His black hair was pulled back into a utilitarian ponytail, a simple leather tie holding it back from his face. The black eyes stared out with acidic humour and keen intellect from his sharp features. As he stared around the room at the Slytherins and Gryffindors assembled there, the twisted smile his students had come to expect graced his features. Two girls nudged each other and giggled._

_            "Don't you all sound excited today," he smirked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. "Alright, what's the occasion?"_

_            "Oh, come on, sir!" a red-haired Gryffindor cried out cheerfully: Charlie Weasley. "You know."_

_            "No, Mr. Weasley, I have to admit I don't. Pray enlighten me."_

_            "The Ball!" said another boy, one of the Notts. Severus spared a brief smile for the child; he tried to encourage the Slytherin children whenever possible. Their Head of House was a witch he'd wish on no one but a Death Eater. Madam Clane's viciousness to her own students had given them such a fear of her they'd sooner eat bubotuber pus than ever confide in her. His own memories of the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher were far from pleasant._

_            Nott's yell had seemingly opened up the floodgates; all the students were talking now. Severus rolled his eyes at the babble and finally said sharply, "Silence!"_

_            Again his children quieted, and he snorted to himself. 'His' children. Only his second year teaching, and already what Dumbledore had predicted was coming true; he was starting to care for the dear, naïve, sheltered little fools. Some more so than others._

_            "I haven't heard about any ball," he drawled sarcastically. "Some new mad rumour?"_

_            They rolled their eyes at their youngest teacher, all those bright foolish little children. "You _know, _sir--" "Oh, come off it, sir," "The _Hallowe'en_ Ball, sir!"_

_            "Oh, yes... the Hallowe'en Ball... I seem to remember the Headmaster saying something about that, maybe he mentioned it in passing, in a staff meeting... well, in any case what are you lot so worked up about? Second years aren't going to be attending."_

_            Loud moans and protests. "Yes we are!" "We'll go!" "They can't let us _not!_" "Are you going, sir?"_

_            "I imagine I'll have to," he said with a totally unfeigned reluctance. As a student, the social gatherings had never interested him; they did so even less with his school days behind him. _

_            "Are you going with anyone, sir?"_

_            This from Alyssum Fletcher, an infatuated little Gryffindor with cornsilk hair and big blue eyes. She'd grow up to be a beauty and an Auror, ten years later. For now, she was a sweet child who thought she had a crush on him. Severus tried to deal with her and her cohort in infatuation, Samantha Bones, with mild but firm discouragement._

_            Now, he tried a roguish smirk. "That's _my_ business, young ladies." Much laughter._

_            Of their own volition, Severus's eyes sought out one child seated in the back. Fern Delaney, a girl with glasses too large for her face and nondescript mousy brown hair, smiled a bit at the other students' comments and jokes, but even in the midst of them, she seemed distant. Periwinkle blue eyes studied the surface of her lab table. She hunched in on herself, trying for all the world to become invisible. The young man closed his eyes briefly in silent sympathy, then opened them and briskly ended the discussion on the ball by launching into the day's lesson. He was a demanding teacher, and laughter faded quickly as the students became absorbed in their study, well aware that Severus Snape would be all too willing to hand out detentions, dock points, or simply ravage verbally anyone he caught idle._

_            Class went quickly. The students brewed and stirred attempts he had to admit were mediocre. But it was only his second year teaching; disgust and cynicism take longer to set in. He permitted himself hope. _

_            Especially with the work of certain students.          _

_            "Ms. Delaney. Stay behind a few moments."_

_            The girl looked startled at having been singled out. Her fellow Slytherins, and their Gryffindor rivals, trickled out of the classroom, leaving her alone with a rather daunting professor._

_            "Sir?"_

_            "Ms. Delaney. Sit down."_

_            The girl did so, her hands clutching tightly at her books._

_            After a moment of heavy silence, he looked up from a parchment he was making a few marks on, and fixed her with his intense stare. She swallowed but met his gaze evenly. He allowed himself a ghost of a smile._

_            "You have a remarkable talent with potions, Ms. Delaney. I'm impressed with the care you take."_

_            Praise from Snape was as rare as snowblossoms sprouting in July. The girl flushed, and stammered a 'thank you, sir.'_

_            "I was wondering if you'd like to take on an extra credit project?"_

****__

_            "Severus! Come on in, come on in... Christmas cookie? The elves just baked them."_

_            "No thank you, sir."_

_            "No need to stand on formality so. We're colleagues, dear boy. Call me Albus. I insist."_

_            "Yes, s-- Albus."_

_            "Wonderful, wonderful... lemon drop? No? Ah well. I imagine you're wondering what I called you in here for?"_

_            "The thought had crossed my mind."_

_            "I've merely wanted to compliment you on the wonderful job you're doing with Potions, Severus. Absolutely fantastic. We're quite pleased with the progress you've made."_

_            "... thank you, sir."_

_            "Ahem. ...Clematis Clane says she may be considering retiring next year. Now, I know you've only been teaching the two years so far, but you show an admirable dedication to your students. I was wondering if you'd consider the possibility of taking the Headship of Slytherin House?"_

_            "I... sir, I'm not sure I'm ready for that sort of--"_

_            "Nonsense! You'd be perfect. And, really, who else can I get? Selena? Mind you, I adore the woman, but she's really much more content with her star charts and telescopes than with matters of discipline and guidance. I really think you've got what it takes, Severus."_

_            "I... well... whatever you think best, sir."_

_            "That's the spirit. Quite glad we've got that settled. Oh stop looking like that-- I haven't asked you to go fight a dragon, my boy, just tackle Slytherin." _

_"With all due respect, sir, I might prefer the dragon."_

_"Oh my, you're quite droll, aren't you? Very good, very good. A sense of humor is integral in a teacher._

_"One other thing..."_

_"Yes, sir?"_

_"I'd like to talk to you about Fern Delaney."_

_"Fern..? Wh-- has Miss Delaney done something wrong?"_

_"No, not at all. Do relax. You're very tense, do you know that? No, I merely wanted to say I think it's _wonderful_ what you've done with that child. Since you took her under your wing, so to speak, back in October, she's been doing marvelously. Coming out of her shell a bit, has more confidence. She's really quite a bright young thing, isn't she?"_

_"Very much so, sir. I sometimes wonder if the Hat oughtn't to have put her in Ravenclaw."_

_"Oh, you'll find that Hat knows what it's doing. And who says Slytherin can't produce intelligent specimens? Just look at yourself, my boy."_

_"...I'm not exactly a sterling example of intelligence, sir."_

_"Rubbish. One youthful mistake does not equal stupidity. ...In any case, I simply wanted to tell you you're doing a wonderful job with her. Keep up the good work."_

_"... thank you, sir."_

_..._

Severus shook himself. He was sulking; wasting time-- the greatest of sins. His movements angry and brisk, he stalked around the classroom shoving stools back under their tables and putting away ingredients that had been left out.

His thoughts wandered to Peregrin Hooch. Albus had been quite correct in one thing; she was a formidable and strong-willed woman. Three years his junior, she had joined the staff some five years after he had started teaching, and they had, despite some surface differences, become quick allies. Especially in the never-ending war against the drawn-out drudgery that was staff meetings. 

Neither of them had patience for tedious hours of circuitous talking, or the blather that Albus liked to pass off as 'social pleasantries.' Neither of them had any patience, either, for excuses or students goofing off in their classes; after Snape first and McGonagall second, Hooch had taken off the third-most House points of any teacher in the school.

And Peregrin was intelligent enough that they could hold decent conversation at times. He'd been pleasantly surprised when, in a staff meeting shortly after she joined the staff, he'd made some subtle little barbed comment at Trelawney that had been, as usual, over the heads of nearly everyone present (certainly right over Sybil's). Albus's eyes had sparkled behind their glasses-- and Hooch had burst into outright laughter.

From that time on, they had shared a sort of understanding. (The two often held subtle competitions at the meetings to see who could insult the other staff members the most, without said staff members noticing they were being insulted. So far, Snape had managed to get everyone except McGonagall and Albus in one go, with Trelawney and poor Sprout twice each; Hooch reluctantly admitted he was ahead.) Many of the other staff saw her as nothing more than the Quidditch coach and Flying Instructor, and assumed that as such her knowledge extended only to the physical; but Madam Hooch had been a Ravenclaw during her school days. Of the three of that House on staff, Filius was a much too gentle soul for Severus to ever feel any connection with him, and Vector's head was often several dimensions away. Hooch was refreshingly ruthless, down-to-earth, and clever.

She was someone whom he thought he might actually consider a friend.

He sighed as he put the last of the powdered dragon fang away. It was time to head over to the little bungalow that clung to the edge of the Quidditch arena-- home to Madam Peregrin Hooch. For the sake of the staff meetings games alone, he owed her that much.

****

_"...The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk._

_"The rain makes running pools in the gutter._

_"The rain plays a little sleep-song on our roof at night—_

_"And I love the rain."_

_--April Rain Song, Langston Hughes_


	2. The Sky Condescending to the Earth

Rain (2/4):

The Sky Condescending to the Earth__

_by Dien Alcyone_

**Who: **A Snape/Hooch piece. With a minor character death.

**What:** Weren't you listening? A Snape/Hooch romance. Alcohol. Rain. Antics. Self-blame. Sex.

**Why:** Pick one: Damn plot-elf wouldn't leave me alone. I'm captain of this SHIP and there isn't enough fic for it. I wanted to annoy my faithful readers by working on something other than SoH or Discipline.

**Where:** FF.N, Astronomy Tower, my site, ask if you want it

**When (to review): **At all times of the night and day

**How: **With liberal amounts of liquor, and inspiration/ideas from:

Tess's proposed first name for Professor Sprout, which is Salvia. 

Harry Potter Lexicon for frequent reference stuff.

Discussion on FA for my preferred first name/background etc., for Madam Hooch.

Zoë Wanamaker for my mental image of M. Hooch.

JKR for Ultimate Original Mental Image of Hooch, and for making a world for me to play in.

Rating: R, I imagine.

****

The rain had finally begun a steady, depressing fall as he emerged from the castle proper and set out across the field towards Hooch's cottage. He glowered some more at the clouds, faintly annoyed that they didn't respond to his glare as students did, and muttered the ever useful Umbrellus Charm to keep the steady rain from drenching him to the skin. His long legs carried him quickly across ground that was well on its way to becoming muddy.

It wasn't a storm, not yet; but if the ominous piling of dark thunderheads was any indication, the next day or two was likely to get there. For a moment he spared a thought to wonder if Albus had done some weather-working to arrange a 'proper' memorial climate for the dead Ravenclaw boy, then dismissed the speculation. The Headmaster was more than capable of actions that seemed to defy reason, but even he wasn't mad enough to tamper with weather magicks just for the sake of 'honoring the dead.'

He slipped on patch of slimy soil and barely managed to keep his balance, cursing fluently. The Umbrellus wavered with his concentration, and cold rainwater instantly attacked the back of his neck. He cursed again and recast the charm.

Finally he was at the door of her hut. He stared at the small building, set apart from the rest of the castle because Hooch valued the closeness to the Quidditch arena, team lockers, and equipment storehouses. He'd never been to visit her before, and glared at the tightly shuttered windows and rather spartan exterior of the house. Severus raised a hand and rapped sharply on the door.

There was no answer. He grimaced, feeling water start to seep into his boots and the bottom edges of his robes. He _liked _rain well enough. He liked lightning and thunder and wind. He liked watching storms crash and rage, his own dissatisfaction with the world easing somewhat in the face of Nature's wrath.

But inclement weather was much better experienced when _inside._ Inside, dry and warm and drinking a cup of coffee with a little something extra in it. Not standing in mud and a steady drizzle, watching water sluice off the 'oh-so-cute' gargoyle water spouts on one's fellow teacher's roof, when one is only there because one had a temporary descent into insanity-- or as fools  might call it, sympathy.

He knocked again, harder. "Dammit, Hooch, I know you're in there," he grumbled under his breath. A wind was starting to pick up, chilling wet skin.

Finally he heard something inside. A muffled voice said, "Albus, I'm fine. Just getting some rest. Please don't trouble yourself."

He swore again. "Not Albus. Open the door before I blast it in."

A pause, then the sound of latches being undone and the rough oak door swung open. "Snape?!"

"No, I'm really Merlin's ghost done up in drag," he snapped, then said in a somewhat more neutral tone, "Evening, Hooch." 

He studied the figure who had opened the door. Peregrin was a good head shorter than him and now stared up at him with her distinctive, piercing yellow eyes, except they were currently bloodshot and a little swollen. She was not wearing the formal teacher's robes (unlike Snape himself), or even the more practical garb she wore while showing idiot children how to stay on top of floating pieces of wood. Instead, she was in a pair of Muggle blue jeans and one of her white dress shirts, though the shirt was untucked and a bit wrinkled. One hand hung at her side, clutching the neck of a bottle whose contents were not hard to guess; the other still rested on the doorknob.

She blinked at him, then seemed to try to pull herself together. "If _you're_ here, it must be bad. What? Are we under attack? Let me get my wand..."

"Don't be ridiculous. Are you going to invite me in or aren't you?"

She blinked again, then stepped back and made a vague gesture that could be considered an invitation. He stepped in without hesitation, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the door frame.

Inside was blessed dryness and warmth. A fire crackled merrily on the hearth, the only light in the room, and Severus mentally berated himself for not thinking to just use the Floo. Behind him, the door slammed shut, and quiet filled the room.

He couldn't help looking around. An intensely private man, he was always intrigued by the living spaces of others. Hooch's was no less fascinating than anyone else's, and probably more so than some.

Severus stood in a long, low-ceilinged room that reminded him for some reason of pictures of houses he'd seen in the southwestern United States. The walls were a warm sandy color and plain, their only decoration an occasional hanging or woven blanket in bright colors. No photographs, even on the tables and shelves that dotted the room here and there.

The furniture was simple and attractive. The same maple wood had been used in all the pieces, lending a nice air of uniformity to the chairs, low coffee table, bookshelves... 

It was a plain and functional space, yet not without an understated beauty, Severus mused. He felt faintly chagrined-- for all he had imagined that he understood her better than the other members on staff, he had never imagined such a... pleasing dwelling place. If he'd thought of Hooch's quarters at all, it had been to visualize trophies and broomsticks hanging on the walls, and hundreds of photos taken during Peregrin Hooch's time as a Chaser for the Falmouth Falcons. But this was free of such ornamentation.

He turned to look at her, perhaps open his mouth to say something, but she beat him to speaking. One eyebrow arched in an amused, sardonic expression that was nearly the equal of his own, she commented, "Well. Albus is sending _Severus Snape_ to check on me now. He must be really worried."

He couldn't help a little snort at that. He didn't bother trying to deny Albus had sent him; they both knew the truth of her words.

"I'll leave soon," he said with a smirk; "just long enough for me to tell him I honestly tried."

She chuckled as she walked past him, back to the chair by the fire she'd been occupying before his knock. The hand not clutching the alcohol waved in the general direction of one of the other seats. "Well, make yourself comfortable then. Just don't expect my usual scintillating conversation."

He found himself moving to take up the offer before he even realized it. Ah well. He could at least warm up before heading back into the water outside.

Severus sat and observed Peregrin's movements with the practised eye he had developed during his years as a teacher. Her speech had been unslurred and her movements were steady, even if her hands trembled slightly. He drew the conclusion that, bottle or not, she was cold sober. Despite her best efforts otherwise.

He watched her watch the flames. She was a small and compact woman, wiry and athletic. Her red-rimmed eyes and shaky hands were at odds with the confident, spunky image she usually presented. Even as he stared, she took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes wearily.

"You look like shit," he heard his own voice say bluntly. Her eyes snapped open, and she laughed harshly.

"Then I'm improving. Minerva said I looked like Death warmed over. Shit's a step up, right?"

"Indeed. By tomorrow, you'll no doubt only look like hell."

She laughed again, then reached down to something at the side of her chair. Her hand came back with a bottle, twin to the one she held in her hand. She tossed it to him.

"Where _are_ my manners. Have a drink, Severus."

He examined the unmarked, plain bottle for a second before prying the lid off. The strong smell of liquor assaulted his trained nostrils. He glanced at her from under a raised eyebrow. "Home brewed?"

"Not by _me._ Hagrid's idea of a consolation gift."

"Oh."

"'Oh' is right. It's potent shit."

Severus shrugged slightly, and took a swallow. And gasped. And choked. He was vaguely aware of Hooch's smirk, and told himself he'd curse her when he could breathe again.

Finally his vision cleared, and he sat up straight, staring at the bottle the way men stare at a poisonous viper. "What the hell is he getting his directions from? A recipe for paint stripper?"

Hooch chuckled and took a cautious swallow from her own bottle. "It... *gasp*... g-grows on you after a while."

"I'll have to take your word on that," he said with a shudder. After a moment's pause he said, "Does Hagrid have any extra, do you think?"

She arched a questioning brow. "You're joking, right?"

"Not in the slightest. I've been looking for a good cleaning agent for the student cauldrons. I think this could eat through anything, even three-week-old dried shrivelfig."

She laughed outright at that. "You can take some bottles when you go. He gave me at least ten gallons worth."

"Dear Merlin."

"Um."

A tentative silence settled over the room, broken only by the sounds of the rain on the roof and the fire as it burned, popped, and hissed. After some moments of the quiet, he leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees, and sighed. "So. Tell me what happened."

Hooch glared at him. "Don't play the fool, Snape. Whole damn school knows 'what happened.'"

"I'd like to hear the actual events if you please, not Variated Rumour Number 378."

She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, stretching out in her chair. Another swig of the poison Rubeus Hagrid dared call liquor, and she started talking.

"He... T-Terry had asked for some extra practice time, what with the big match coming up next month. Our best Chaser, dammit. Worked himself _so- bloody- hard..._"

...

_"Professor Snape?"_

_"Mm. Yes, Ms. Delaney?"_

_"I was wondering if I could use this evening to get some work done on my extra credit project? I think I'm really close to getting it..."_

_"I don't believe that would be a problem. I'll leave the classroom open for you-- I don't suppose I need to tell you not to get in the ingredients for the other classes?"_

_"Of course not, sir! What do you think I am, a Gryffindor...?"_

_..._

"... He'd been having some problems with his Nimbus lately, and I told him he could use the school brooms if he liked. He said, 'thanks, Madam Hooch, but I've got it under control.' I...

"I should have insisted..."

"He was off and up, chasing the Quaffles like nobody's business. Smart kid. Good reflexes. Always polite.

"Anyways, one of them got pretty high up, he zips right on after it. I was checking the charms on some of the Bludgers-- they'd seemed awful lazy lately-- and I wasn't keeping my eye on him," she ground out, her lips pressing in a thin line. "I-- wasn't-- _watching..._"

She closed her eyes for a moment, her brows drawn in pain. "I heard him shouting for help. Looked up just in time to see him crash dead into Gryffindor Tower. Going so damn fast..."

"I got over there quick as I could, of course... hollered for Poppy on the way... for all the good it did. She said his neck broke on impact, at the speed he was going and the angle he hit. Said, 'at least it was quick and painless,' as if that makes any gods-damned difference..." 

Hooch let out a bitter snort. "Anyways. We examined his broom later, of course-- the parts that survived the crash. It had a little bug in the spells, something a lot of the Nimbuses have had lately. They think some witch or wizard got lazy at the factory... there's an official inquiry going on, or some such rubbish. Little late for Terrence Boot."

She let out a low oath and took another swallow of the poison. Snape felt obliged to join her, and amazingly only coughed once or twice the second time around. She glanced over at him and lifted an eyebrow. "I'm impressed. Took me an hour with the stuff to stop seeing stars at every gulp."

"Y-yes... well... 's what happens when you spend a l-lifetime drinking down nasty mixtures."

She smiled a bit, turning her bottle around in her hands slowly. "Anyways, that's what happened. You asked."

"So I did."

For a moment, there was silence again, Hooch's eyes returning to the flames. Without warning, she swore viciously and hurled her bottle into the fireplace, the resulting crash and burn something quite spectacular to watch, and buried her face in her hands. He caught snatches of her sobbed words:

"Damn _fool_ boy... flying on some broomstick you _know's_ being twitchy.... Circe and Hecate damn me, I should have made you use the school broom. I should have been watching, I could have... just a little charm and you'd be alive, you damn fool boy.... why the hell wasn't I _quicker, _wasn't I _watching..."_

Severus closed his eyes. Opened them-- he didn't need to see images of dead students repeating themselves on his eyelids. He exhaled a slow breath, then dragged his free hand across his face.

"Hooch."

She didn't respond, other than to turn in her chair so that he couldn't see her face at all. 

_"Hooch."_

A shudder ran through her form, and he thought he heard her mumble something that sounded like a cross between 'I'm sorry' and 'fuck off'.

"... Peregrin," he said quietly, then reached a hesitant hand across the space between them and touched her shoulder. She whirled at the touch, golden eyes blazing and bright with the firelight, her anger, and her tears. He felt himself pinned by that fierce and sulphuric gaze. 

"Peregrin," he began softly, using the tone of voice one employed with a dangerous animal, and distantly recognizing it for the tone Albus sometimes used with him, "I'm not very good at this sort of thing. All I can say is that... with time... it will get better."

"Don't you fucking give me that!" she snarled. "'Time heals all wounds,' and such shit! Bollocks to that--"

"I didn't say it would heal," he snapped. "I said it would get _better._ There's a difference."

She glared at him mutely, and he took a breath and continued. "Right now... all you can see is your student's face. Every time you close your eyes, every time you see some child with the same coloring and form, every time you... All you do is go over and over and over what happened. You try and figure out what you did wrong, knowing that if you just can _understand_, it will be fixed, you can fix it, and your student-- your _child,_ dammit-- will still be alive. 

"You don't want to go out into the world that child occupied, because seeing that place without him or her in it will just make it real, and it means you can't go back and fix it..." 

Severus heard his own voice trail off into nothing. Hooch was still staring at him, her eyes now wide and anguished, instead of the narrowed, furious gaze she had turned on him before.

"Who was it for you?" she said in a tight whisper. He winced. He should have known she'd figure it out the instant he started speaking. Snape took a deep breath, feeling her eyes searching his face hungrily. He wanted to bolt from the room. He'd never told anyone about it voluntarily, and Albus was the only one who had dared try and talk to him on the matter. But-- she stared at him as if held some sort of gods-damned answer, and he couldn't bring himself not to try.

Severus took a swallow of the liquid courage-- make that liquid insanity-- under the logic that if he couldn't taste the words in his mouth, maybe he couldn't hear them either.

"I had a student. My second year teaching, her second year of school," he said dully. "She was a smart girl. Bright. Gifted. Good with potions. Better than most of the sixth and seventh years. A Slytherin.

"I felt... responsible for her. She was alone, like bright children often are. I tried to help her. It seemed to be working.

"She... I had her doing an extra credit project. She was working on it unsupervised. Shouldn't have been a problem. The ingredients were harmless. Even Neville Longbottom couldn't have caused any chaos with them.

"Some idiot fifth year had put his ingredients away in the wrong cabinet. Two powders, very similar in appearance. She used the wrong one. Simple mistake.

"Tested the potion on herself. Died. I found her an hour afterwards, when I came in to check on her progress."

Severus stared into the flames. He couldn't seem to let go of the bottle in his hand, and instead raised it for another swallow. Peregrin watched him mutely, curled up in her chair, her eyes glittering in the fire's light.

"I didn't know. What was her name?" she said quietly. He shook himself and murmured, "It was before you started here. There would have been no reason for you to know. And it was Delaney. Fern Delaney."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her pull another of the bottles from beside the chair and pop the lid off. "To Fern Delaney and Terrence Boot," she said roughly, then took a healthy swallow. He mechanically followed her example.

"So," she murmured after a moment, "it gets better?"

Severus shifted in his chair, bringing his eyes back to her. He felt tired and drained. "Yes. Yes, after a while. It... you won't see their face when you sleep. You won't dream of them. You'll stop feeling like everyone else on staff is silently pointing their fingers at you. You'll eventually be able to teach your students that particular potion-- or show them how to do that dive, or that feint-- without problems, without nightmares.

"You'll still hurt like hell whenever you hear their name. You'll still feel like you betrayed a sacred trust. But it will ease. With time.

"After all. Life goes on," he said bitterly.

"Even if the children don't," she whispered.

He nodded. "Even if the children don't."

Peregrin took another drink and stared up at the ceiling. "It isn't fair, is it, Severus? We... we try so damned hard, trying to do the right thing, with our bloody lesson plans and syllabuses and what-not, and some stupid accident comes along and screws up all our careful planning. It's not fair."

"Life's not fair."

"Ha. I'll drink to that," she said, idly holding out her alcohol to be toasted. He reached out and tapped her bottle with his own, the faint _clink_ of glass loud in the silence. They both took healthy swallows, then engaged in the requisite gasping and choking.

"Potent shit."

"Yeh..."

Snape leaned back in his chair and followed her example of staring at the ceiling. The rain sounded like it was really going now, pounding violently on the roof.

"Tell me," Peregrin said in a conversational tone after a bit, "do I, with time, end up like you?"

"What?" he managed, startled by the question out of the blue.

"Well, I mean, you're a bastard, Snape. Is that reaction to this girl's death, or just the way you are?"

"Oh. No, that's pretty much natural inclination. Personal preference," he sighed, lifting the bottle again. He was starting to feel a warmth in his veins and slight buzzing in his ears. This stuff wasn't that bad after all.

"Oh. That's a shame," she said distantly.

"It is not. It gets results in class," he muttered indignantly. She chuckled. "Ends justify the means, eh?"

Severus decided he wasn't going to dignify that with a response. He closed his eyes and slid down in the chair, listening to the rain drumming on the roof. It was surprisingly peaceful here, as if the hundred or so yards that separated the hut from the rest of the school acted as a barrier to the stress as well.

"By God. I should get a camera in here."

"What?" he managed, wondering what the crazy witch was talking about now.

"You're smiling. I don't think I've ever seen you smile before, Severus."

"I am not."

"You are so. You've got this happy little comfortable smile on your face. Merlin's ass, that's... surreal. Weird. You're freaking me out."

He opened his eyes and glared at her. She grinned impudently back, then raised her bottle to him in mock salute before downing another mouthful. Snape rolled his eyes, then closed them again.

"Fine. I'm smiling. Is it a bloody crime?"

"On you, yeah. Like I said, I've never seen you smile. You've always got this expression like you stepped in something the house elves forgot to clean up."

"I do _not._"

"The hell you don't. You go around like some bloody bat, all dour and glowering and monstrous. The whole 'everyone-else-is-scum' look."

"I _do not_."

"You do so. Ask Minerva or Albus if you don't believe me."

He muttered curses under his breath, then finished off the rest of the bottle in one gulp.

"_Gasp_... *choke* =coff coff kaff= h-hell..."

"Merlin's balls, you trying to kill yourself or something?"

"N-no.... just.... Fuck. Hand me another bottle."

Peregrin snorted and tossed him one from her seemingly endless cache.

"What do you suppose Hagrid calls this stuff?" Severus grunted, as he wrestled with the tight lid of the new bottle. It seemed to be stuck.

"Er... when he brought it, he said, _'s a wee li'l pick-me-up_, or something like that."

Severus snorted. "Yes. Pick-me-up-- and put me down in St. Mungo's. This stuff can't possibly be healthy."

"No shit, Snape, you come to that conclusion by the smell or taste?"

"By the protests of my offended and endangered liver and kidneys... oh come on, you wretched thing, _open_... They want to know why I hate them so, that I'd subject them to this punishment."

"Oh, you talk to your bodily organs, do you?"

"Indeed. Held a wonderful literary discussion-- damn this lid-- with my right lung just last week," he snarled, still trying to get the lid off. "Damn, it's on tight."

Hooch smirked over the open mouth of her 'wee li'l pick-me-up.' "Need some help with that, Severus?"

He fixed a patented glare on her. "Sod off. The day I-- mmf-- can't get a bloody bottle open-- ng-- is the day I retire-- dammit-- as Hogwarts Potions Master. Damn!"

The last oath came as the lid abruptly and violently came off, and the bottle's contents, long under pressure, saw fit to escape at great velocity.

Severus Snape blinked and blinked again, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he was about to erupt in a litany of obscenities and couldn't quite make up his mind which one to start with. Strong alcohol dripped from his hair, which was hardly improved by its impromptu bath; his aquiline nose, and his chin. His whole face had been sprayed, and the liquor was also seeping into the fabric on his neck and upper chest. A line of the dark golden-brown liquid trickled slowly off one hand.

Snape's lips compressed into a thin flat line and he said quietly, "One word, Hooch. You so much as say one bloody word, and so help me Circe..."

Peregrin Hooch looked as though she was going to burst. She bit down fiercely on her lower lip and when that didn't work, brought up her non-alcohol occupied hand to clamp over her mouth. When even that began to fail her, she turned and buried her face in the arm of her chair and laughed hysterically.

Severus glared, conscious of how futile it was with Hagrid's poison dripping from the end of his nose. After a good minute during which Hooch laughed herself silly into the armrest, she finally sat up and wiped her streaming eyes.

"'m sorry... I really am... oh gods... it's just..."

Her yellow eyes looked at him again-- and off she went once more. This time she just threw her head back and howled. Severus Snape pursed his lips, nodded very slightly in the manner of a man who has come to terms with the fact that the Universe hates him, and philosophically took a swallow from what still remained in the bottle.

****

_"Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life."_

_--John Updike_


	3. So Sane and Insane

Rain (3/4):

So Sane and Insane__

_by Dien Alcyone_

**Who: **A Snape/Hooch piece. With a minor character death.

**What:** Weren't you listening? A Snape/Hooch romance. Alcohol. Rain. Antics. Self-blame. Sex.

**Why:** Pick one: Damn plot-elf wouldn't leave me alone. I'm captain of this SHIP and there isn't enough fic for it. I wanted to annoy my faithful readers by working on something other than SoH or Discipline.

**Where:** FF.N, Astronomy Tower, my site, ask if you want it

**When (to review): **At all times of the night and day

**How: **With liberal amounts of liquor, and inspiration/ideas from:

Tess's proposed first name for Professor Sprout, which is Salvia. 

Harry Potter Lexicon for frequent reference stuff.

Discussion on FA for my preferred first name/background etc., for Madam Hooch.

Zoë Wanamaker for my mental image of M. Hooch.

JKR for Ultimate Original Mental Image of Hooch, and for making a world for me to play in.

Note to MHC: The Rock Gods Live. *bows in homage*

Note of sort... I oddly threw all my own opinions to the wind, and let Remus Lupin's own opinion of Snape's James-hatred be semi-correct. You know, the 'jealous-of-his-Quidditch-fame' thing. Normally, I can't stand this. Oh well. It worked here. I think.

The author makes *no* apologies. Whatsoever.

Rating: R, I imagine.

****

_Some time later...._

            "Dear God. You listen to David Bowie?"

            "What. Something wrong with that, Sev?"

            "Don't call me that. No, nothing's wrong with Bowie, it's just... I never imagined you as, mm... well..."

"Sod off, Snape. And what do _you_ listen to? Let me guess. Rachmaninoff and Wagner."

"Naturally."

"Hmph. Aristo swine."

"... of course, they're not _all _I listen to. If you're interested, I'll loan you my Sex Pistols records sometime."

"..."

"What?"

"..."

"Don't _look_ at me like that, Hooch."

"Jeezus Muggle Christ. Sorry. _You_ like the Pistols?"

"I don't know if it's occurred to you, Peregrin, but the three years' difference in our ages does _not_ mean a gap of Paleolithic proportions. If you can like Bowie, I see no reason why _I _can't like the Sex Pistols."

"Yeah, yeah, unwad your knickers, Snape. I was just commenting. You're just... I just can't _see_ you at a Pistols concert. You know?"

"Hmph."

"Oh stop it. Have another drink, Sev."

"I _told_ you not to call me that."

****

"Let me make sure I've *hic* got this straight. You quit playing professional Quidditch because of a _stalker?_"

"Shut up. The bastard was bloody insane. You'd quit something too, if you got forty-seven owls in one day, all saying things like the only way you could look better on the pitch was if you flew _without_ your uniform robes. Sick bastard."

"Doesn't the Ministry do something about those sort of people?"

"No, Snape, that would mean the Ministry is at some point _useful._ ...I reported it two or three times, and the idiots *hic* I talked to all acted like _I'd_ done something to _de-sherve_ it. Pigs."

"Now _that's_ something I can toast. Here's to the Ministry being the biggest conglomeration of idiots, wastes-of-space, and pigs assembled on the face of the earth."

"Hear, hear."

_=Clink=_

_=glurg swallow gulp=_

"...gasp. P-potent shit. So. You came here to work for Albus."

"Well... not right away. I was enjoying the married life at the time, and when Albus's owl showed up-- what?"

"Excuse me while I *hic* adjust myself to the concept of you being married. Oh, good, I managed not to spit my liquor... now, what's all this about you married?"

"Er. Well. He was... he was a sweet man," Hooch said, her face growing wistful. "A Muggle, actually. We met at a soccer game I went to, just to see what it was like... Daniel Hopkins. He was a civil engineer, or something like that. Bit of a shock for him when I said I was a witch, on the second date. He j... jo... joking-- *hic* jokingly asked if I had a broomstick too, so I took him up to me apartment and asked him which model he was referring to. This was when I was still playing for the Falcons, mind..." She trailed off into nothing, staring at the ceiling.

Snape turned his bottle around in his hands, fascinated by the way light gleamed through the amber-coloured liquor. "So... what happened to him?"

"Car accident. Such a silly, stupid thing. We'd been married about two years. He drove off to work. Never came home. They rung me up to tell me, and that was that. I... after that, I accepted the job offer. I needed _something_ to keep me busy.

"... all right, Snape. Your turn."

"What? Oh no. _I've _never been married."

"Didn't think so. No, I was talking *hic* about why you quit Quidditch."

"Beg your pardon."

She sighed and began to explain, in the tone of voice one used with a small child, "My first year at Hogwarts. You were Chasing for Slytherin. You were good, too. My s-shecond year, you weren't on team. What happened?"

"I lost interesht, I imagine," Snape slurred dully, taking a swallow from his drink.

"Bollocks. Someone doesn't jusht 'lose interest' like that. What happened?"

Snape sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "...If you remember me playing, you no doubt remember James Potter."

"'Course. Who doesn't. I swear, the stunts he pulled as a Seeker... two of you never got along, did you?"

"An un- under- understatement worthy of a Slytherin. ...anyways, I'd hoped of being moved up to Seeker, someday... but that nitwit MacNair was captaining, and he thought the only way to match Potter's speed was with brawns and force. I'd never have gotten where I wanted, or had a chance to face off squarely with Gryffindor's golden boy. So I quit. Found other things to occupy my time. Quidditch bored me after that. Still does, to be honest."

"Why the hell didn't you stick with it. Captains change. You might have gotten to play."

Snape glared at her. "I just didn't care. Quidditch wasn't my life. I had other things on my mind. Don't you go-- *hic* judging me."

"Unwad your knickers, Sev. Just commenting. I'm drunk, y'know."

"Obvioushly. And don't call me that."

****

"My God. You're totally sh- shmas- shmash- ed--... drunk."

"S-speak f'r... y'rshelf... I'm *hic* completely shober. Com. Pletely."

"...C-come off it, woman."

"You firsht."

"...

"Han' me anoth'r bottle..."

****

            "Do y'know, I think whoever first invented the Sobering Spell is a bloody genius. Post-mortem Order of Merlin is called for."

            "So you say _now_. Sobering spells have nasty aftereffects. The drunkenness is not removed, just post-poned... and it's cumulative."

            "Shut up and deal the cards, Snape."

            "_grumble snark..._"

            "All right. Hmmm. Er, two cards, please."

            "Mm."

            "Hmm."

            "... *swallow*... gasp..."

            "Pass me another bottle, will you."

            "I fold."

            "You can't fold!"

            "Well, I am."

            "But. But. Oh come on, Severus Snape. I have the bloody best hand I have _ever_ had and you want to fold. Damn you to hell."

            "Join the club... you know, playing for imaginary sums gets very dull after a while."

            "You got a better suggestion?"

            "..."

            "Snape. _What_ are you thinking, Snape? I don't trust the look on your face..."

            "Nothing. Never mind."

            "What? Tell."

            "No, it's not important."

            "Come on! Tell."

            "No."

            "Tell! Tell! Tell! Tell!"

            ".... gods, you're going to kill me... alright. Strip poker."

            "....

            "....

            "....

            ".... I'm going to need to get really drunk for this."

****

            "Call."

            "*hic* Full... housh..."

            "Oh Merlin dam' my eyesh. Damn."

            "Pay... up."

            "Right. *hic*.... er.... dam' theesh b-buttonsh..."

            "Need *hic* help withat, Peregrin?"

            "You wipe that grin off your faysh, Shnape, or so help me I'll- *hic* I'll- *hic* *hic* do it fo' you."

            "An' jusht _how_ are you going to do _that?_"

            "Like _thish."_

            "..."

            "..."

            "Oh."

            "Yeh."

            "Neither of ush are going to remember thish tomorrow *hic* morning, are we?"

            "Dear God I hope not."

****

            "Mmm."

            "Ohh."

            "Shit."

            "..."

            "Mm. Mmm. Mnnn."

            ".... bedroom."

            ".... yeh."

            "That door?"

            "Yeh."

            "Mmm."

****

_"On the day of breasts and small hips_

_The window pocked with bad rain,_

_Rain coming on like a minister,_

_We coupled, so sane and insane."_

_--Anne Sexton_

Part four coming soon.


	4. Like Lovers Do

Rain (4/4):

Like Lovers Do__

_by Dien Alcyone_

**Who: **A Snape/Hooch piece. With a minor character death.

**What:** Weren't you listening? A Snape/Hooch romance. Alcohol. Rain. Antics. Self-blame. Sex.

**Why:** Pick one: Damn plot-elf wouldn't leave me alone. I'm captain of this SHIP and there isn't enough fic for it. I wanted to annoy my faithful readers by working on something other than SoH or Discipline.

**Where:** FF.N, Astronomy Tower, my site, ask if you want it

**When (to review): **At all times of the night and day

**How: **With liberal amounts of liquor, and inspiration/ideas from:

Tess's proposed first name for Professor Sprout, which is Salvia. 

Harry Potter Lexicon for frequent reference stuff.

Discussion on FA for my preferred first name/background etc., for Madam Hooch.

Zoë Wanamaker for my mental image of M. Hooch.

JKR for Ultimate Original Mental Image of Hooch, and for making a world for me to play in.

Line from H2G2. Go, Ford Prefect!

_Yes, there WILL be a sequel to this, someday. It just needs to sit down and write itself. Yes, they DO become Hogwarts' funniest couple..._  


Rating: R, I imagine.

****

            The very first thing he was aware of was the noise. It was steady, constant, timeless, soothing. The endless and primeval drumming of rain, somewhere overhead. There is nothing quite like waking up to the sound of rain hitting the roof, while you are peacefully content in bed, and know you don't have to get up anytime soon. Still, something about that nagged him, because with his quarters underground in the dungeons, it had been some time since he'd woken to the sound of raindrops.

            The next thing he was aware of was the warmth. Warm heavy soft blankets and covers, a warm bed underneath, a warm body pressed against his own. Skin. Warm. Bare. Pleasantly solid. Pleasantly soft and curvy in other areas. He was vaguely aware that there was something extraordinarily important about these facts but could not for the life of him tie the sensory input he was receiving into one coherent conclusion.

            The third thing Severus Snape was aware of was the headache.

            It was nowhere near as bad as he'd feared last night, when the amounts of liquor consumed had exceeded the bounds of ridiculosity. It was entirely possible that a lifetime of dealing with mind-and-body-altering substances had given him a remarkable immunity to the aftereffects of drink. Perhaps. Whatever the reasons, he was surprisingly well-off, a minor headache and slight nasty taste in his mouth being the only symptoms of what should be, by rights, a colossal hangover.

            He shifted slightly and tried to convince his brain that thought might be a valid course of action. It proved recalcitrant, so he consulted his eyes instead, willing them to open.

            They did so, and promptly fed in an image of a comfortable, cosy bedroom. Grey washed-out light filtered in through a window that looked out on the Quidditch pitch, though the view was obscured by the steadily falling rain. But he wasn't looking at the room so much as he was the incredibly messy and rumpled head resting against his chest. Short grey hair stuck out wildly and randomly, oddly reminiscent of a dandelion head that had gotten itself flattened in some places and electrocuted in others.

            "Oh fuck," he breathed very very softly, and quickly formulated several escape plans worthy of a Death Eater spy.

            None of them were practical; especially considering the degree of inter-twined-ness the two bodies-- the two very _naked_ bodies, he realized-- had managed to achieve.

            How to get out of here without waking Hooch. That was the question. Damn. Damn. Damn.

            For one moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and drop his head back into the pillow. The hoped-for lack of memory had _not_ materialized, and he was left with a horribly clear recollection of _everything _that had transpired the night before (with the exception of a dialogue on the music of John Lennon that was blurry and vague). What in the name of Merlin's unmentionables had possessed him and _Hooch_ to... to do... to get... Snape squeezed his eyes shut and heard himself make a soft whimpering noise.

            The one single solitary bright spot in the whole thing was that it was Saturday morning. No classes.

            The figure that was more-or-less in his arms stirred slightly, the face nuzzling-- _nuzzling!--_ his throat. He bit his lip and told himself fiercely that the only way to make the situation worse would be to respond to said nuzzling, and he was _not_ going to do that. Not even if his brain was gleefully reminding him just how good certain aspects of the night before had been.

            "Fuck," he murmured again, staring at the ceiling for inspiration or a divine miracle, whichever was available. 

            Peregrin Hooch shifted again, making a low moaning sound that he correctly interpreted as waking to misery.

            "H-- Peregrin?" he whispered in dread. Time to face the music. Morning-after-awkwardness.

            "Bloody fucking pig don't fucking _shout,_" she hissed weakly, one hand leaving his hip to clutch at her forehead. "God. Damn. Fucking noise...."

            "Sorry," he said as softly as it was possible to speak, understanding that his hangover tolerance was not shared by her. Slowly, he disentangled limbs and bodies until they were no longer touching, then edged out of the bed.

            Clothes. He needed clothes. Badly. A hunt revealed, scattered around the room, socks-- no good-- shirt-- marginally better-- ohthankgod. Boxers. He grabbed the pair and pulled them on, then his shirt. He didn't bother with the line of buttons, glancing instead at Hooch, now curled up in a fetal position on the bed, one hand clutching her head, the other her stomach.

            "Be right back," he said in the same barely-legible whisper, and tiptoed out of the room. He thought he heard her growl, as he left, "Don't stomp..."

            The first order of business was the kitchen. He found it without difficulty, not bothering to glance out the windows at the grey and rainy day outside, and quickly proceeded to make a simple but potent hangover remedy with the ingredients there. Most of the staff didn't bother with a kitchen or cooking at all, preferring to rely on the elves, but perhaps her distance from the castle proper made Hooch want to make her own food or something. Or perhaps her two years with her Muggle husband had taught her the joys of cooking. Whatever. The reasons were not so important as the fact that she had all that needed for the potion.

            It came together quickly and he helped himself to a swallow of the finished liquid, knowing it would banish the headache. Then, carefully holding the remaining cupful, he made a very quiet way back to the room where the unfortunate woman agonized.

            "Hooch."

            "... shh..."

            "I have a hangover remedy here."

            "... _give._"

            "Can you sit up a bit?"

            "Ow..."

            "Swallow. That's it."

            "Gods! That tastes _disgusting!"_

            "Don't knock it. It works."

            "... urg... my head... oh, that's better. *sigh*"

            "You're welcome."

            "Right. Thanks."

            Silence ensued. Snape stood next to the bed and held the cup, looking away from Hooch. Hooch blinked, chewed her lower lip, and pulled the sheets around her. Snape cleared his throat.

            "Er."

            "Um."

            "Right. Uh, so, um, that is..."

            "Yes. I mean. Eh. Ah..."

            "Definitely."

            "Of course. ... so."

            "So."

            "Uh... Imeanthere'snoreasonwecan'ttalkaboutthisintelligently--"

            "Ofcoursenotafterallwe'rebothmatureadults."

            "Right. Right. Took the words right out of my mouth."

            "Right. So."

            "So."

            "Er.... I should be mm well going I think."

            "Right probably best."

            "Right."

            "Er..."

            "Eh.... I, ah, well, talk to you later Hooch," he managed in one breath, and fled the bedroom, pausing only to grab the rest of his clothes along the way. He finished dressing in the living room, tried to make himself look as presentable as he could under the circumstances, and cast the Umbrellus Charm.

            Thinking up new and inventive ways to murder Albus Dumbledore and get away with it, he headed back out into the rain.

****__
    
    _"Here comes the rain again_
    
    _"Falling on my head like a memory_
    
    _"Falling on my head like a new emotion_
    
    _"I want to walk in the open wind_
    
    _"I want to talk like lovers do..."_
    
    _--Eurythmics_


End file.
